


Claustrophobia

by pidgeotto_gunderson



Series: VLD Season 2 Fix-It's [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Can be viewed as platonic or romantic, Claustrophobia, Elevators, Fix-It, Lance is Claustrophobic, M/M, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 02, Take it however you want, Trapped In Elevator, add-in for the pool scene, i dont know what else to tag so im just gonna leave it here, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgeotto_gunderson/pseuds/pidgeotto_gunderson
Summary: Season 2 fix-it, adding onto the infamous pool scene in episode 5





	

**Author's Note:**

> I want you guys to know that this entire thing is just a spawn of my headcanon that Lance developed claustrophobia after the thing with the cryopod and the airlock in episode 9 of season 1

As soon as the elevator rumbles, Lance decides that the universe is just really fucking against him.

 

He’s exhausted and irritated, and on top of everything, he’s now stuck in a cramped elevator with Keith _,_ of all people.

 

A _really freaking cramped_ elevator.

 

“Brilliant,” Lance mutters. “That's just brilliant.”

 

Keith doesn't say anything, having already begun to feel around the walls for a potential escape route. Lance, on the other hand, steps backward and feels his back collide with the wall. He’s already resigned to just wait it out, wait for someone to come find them. Keith ignores him completely, apparently content to fumble around in the dark. Although there’s only like twelve feet worth of space in the elevator, so he’ll surely get bored quickly.

 

Twelve feet.

 

Only twelve feet of space. That really is small. The air in an elevator would probably run out pretty fast, then, right? Or it could just collapse. Or they could just be trapped so long that they just wither and die. Or -

 

“Lance, are you maybe gonna help?”

 

He’s going to die. He’s going to die in here, in a broken down elevator in space with _Keith_.

 

The elevator is way too small and all the walls are way too close and _why won't his goddamn lungs work?_

 

He can't breathe, he really can't fucking breathe (and he can’t even blame it on a lack of oxygen in the elevator), and Lance finds himself sliding down the wall and landing hard on the floor. He pulls his knees to his chest, runs a shaking hand through his hair, and wishes for death.

 

“Lance?” Keith’s voice is muffled to Lance’s ears. “What are you even doing?”

 

Lance blinks at him, but the room is spinning and he can’t decide if there are three or four Keith’s in front of him. “I - I can’t - I c-can’t breathe.”

 

“You - what?”

 

“I can’t - Keith - Christ, w-why is this ele-v-vator so g-goddamn _small?”_

 

It’s not as bad as the cryopod, or the airlock, but the walls are _definitely_ closing in, and Lance is _not having it._ The air refuses to reach his lungs - he’s hyperventilating, he knows that, but he can’t seem to make it stop. His chest is burning and his head is pounding and tears are welling in his eyes. He rubs furiously at his eyes, digs his fingernails deep into his thigh, searching for something to ground him.

 

He hears Keith kneel down in front of him. He’s saying something - Lance isn’t totally sure what, but he catches his own name and a string of curse words and decides he doesn’t want to hear any more.

 

There’s a hand on his knee. Lance immediately latches onto the anchoring feeling of having someone else there. “-ance.” There’s static in Lance’s ears, this weird sort of buzz that’s drowning out other noise. Keith leans in close, his other hand on Lance’s shoulder, and says it again. “Lance, hey, are you - are you okay? What is this - what’s wrong?”

 

He’s trembling, looking up and biting down hard on his bottom lip. He tastes blood. “I don’t - I can’t - it’s too s-small and I can’t - get me o-out - Keith, _please_ , g-get me out of here -”

 

Keith’s fingers press into Lance’s leg, and he’s talking, more to himself than to Lance, words rushed and frantic. “You - crap, okay - this is bad, this is - you - you’re claustrophobic, aren’t you?”

 

Lance laughs, far past rueful, bordering on delirious. “N-nice of you to n-n-notice, Keith.” He’s suffocating.

 

“Fuck off, Lance,” Keith shoots back, almost automatically. “Hey, just - just breathe, okay? You’re fine, you’re perfectly safe, alright, just -”

 

“Oh, th-thanks for the update, that’s fan-f-freaking-tastic -”

 

“Would you shut up and let me help you?” Keith grabs Lance’s left hand in his right and yanks it towards him. Lance doesn’t bother protesting as Keith holds Lance’s palm to his own bare stomach. “Hey, you feel that? You can feel my breathing, yeah?”

He can. It’s steady.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good, just - try to get yours to match mine, okay? In for four, out for eight, alright?” Keith does exactly that, loudly, exaggeratedly, tapping out the count on Lance’s knee. Lance clutches Keith’s wrist with his other hand and tries and fails to focus. “Lance, come on, just breathe with me, alright?

 

 _What part of ‘I can’t’ don’t you understand, Keith? I physically cannot breathe, see, that’s why I’m freaking the fuck out - well, really, I’m freaking the fuck out because this elevator’s too small, why is this elevator so small? Why do people make elevators so small, it’s impractical, it’s ridiculous, it’s_ terrifying _, that’s what it is -_

 

His thoughts are running at a mile an hour (he’s losing it, holy _fuck_ ), and Keith’s words are getting buried under everything else. Lance forces himself to listen, still barely comprehending, but comprehending nonetheless.

 

“Shit - Lance, you’ve gotta calm down,” Keith says, and he sounds just as frantic as Lance is. Lance starts to speak, just to say ‘thanks for the advice’ or something just as sarcastic, but Keith actually sounds worried, almost scared, and Lance shuts up for once. “I - did you know that hyperventilating, ah - doesn’t help, it just - it actually makes you get _less_ air -”

 

“Oh, thanks,” Lance bites out between sharp inhales and puffed exhales. “That’s _so nice to know,_ K-Keith - Jesus Christ, who t-taught you to comfort people?”

 

“Ah, that would -” Keith gives a shaky laugh. “That would be on Shiro, actually.”

 

Lance blinks - he can’t see, with the lights out, but he can picture Keith’s expression in his head - and then he’s giggling. He’s hysterical, he’s stuck in this stupid death box and he’s totally hysterical, heaving and shaking and _giggling._

 

The lights come back up then, and Lance jumps, thinks the elevator is working again for a second. But no, it’s just the emergency lights. At least he can see the twelve feet of elevator now.

 

Keith seems to falter, his grip on Lance’s hand loosening slightly. “Uh - are you…okay?”

 

“Nope!” He’s not even sure what’s so damn funny, but he’s started and there’s no stopping now. “I am very much not okay, Keith.” His voice wavers, jumping between pitches like there’s no tomorrow. Which there might not be, for him, if he dies in this stupid frigging elevator. Regardless, he feels like a kid on a sugar high.

 

“I - Lance, could you just -” Keith sighs, moves his hand from Lance’s knee to brush his bangs out of his face. He doesn’t release Lance’s hand, but Keith stands and tugs on his hand. “Can you stand?”

 

“Sure,” Lance says, breathless, around his laughter. He struggles to his feet, stumbles along with Keith, who drags him away from the wall and to the middle of the elevator. “What - what’s up?”

 

Keith still doesn’t let go - they’re still connected and Lance tries to focus on that, tries to block out everything else. “The only way out,” Keith says, “is up. If we get up to the top of the elevator, we can figure out a way to get up the shaft.”

  
  
“Like -” Lance snorts, covers his mouth with his hand. Waits for the snickers to die out a little, says, “Like Emperor’s New Groove style?”

 

“…what?”

 

Lance doesn’t respond for a minute. He squeezes his eyes shut, still working on steadying himself. He’s managed to quit laughing, mostly, but his chest is still tight, his breathing still erratic. He’s stopped panicking, at least (it’s more of dull sense of anxiety now), and he can finally think straight enough to catch on to Keith’s train of thought.

 

Enough to realize that Keith is giving him an out. He’ll be damned if he’s going to make it take any longer than it has to.

 

Lance pulls his hand back from Keith’s, finally, and links his fingers together. He kneels down and holds his hands out. “Come on, then, Keith.”

  
  
“Um,” Keith says, eyeing him.

 

“Oh, quit being a baby and -”

 

“Fine, fine.” Keith steps lightly on Lance’s makeshift step-stool, as if testing the waters. Impatient (aching for an escape), Lance opens his mouth to urge Keith to hurry the fuck up, but Keith is already putting his weight on Lance’s hands (he may be thin, but he’s _heavy_ ) and straightening up to push at a panel on the ceiling, which opens (thank God) with a loud clang.

 

It takes a couple minutes for Keith to pull himself up and out of the elevator and to manage to pull Lance up with him, but they make it.

 

And Lance takes one look up and says, “Alright, fuck no.”

 

Keith glances at him. “Lance -”

 

“No. Nope, not happening, I’m not doing it.”

 

“Come on, Lance, just -”

  
  
“Absolutely not.”

 

Keith huffs, staring up into the shaft. It’s thin and long and even more cramped than the elevator, somehow. Lance has decided that this is the worst goddamn day of his life.

 

“You don't think we can make it up there,” Keith says.

 

“I don't think I want to die in an elevator shaft,” Lance replies.

 

Scoffing, Keith moves to stand in the middle of the shaft, spreads his arms to the sides. His fingers don't even touch the walls.

 

“I can't climb it, then…” Keith says quietly, and Lance narrows his eyes.

 

“What do you mean ‘ _you_ can't climb it’?” He asks loudly, his stomach still fluttering. “What, were you just gonna leave me here?”

 

“I’m considering,” Keith responds, almost immediately. At Lance’s affronted squawk, he laughs a little and turns. “I was _going to_ climb up and go get someone to turn the elevator back on so you could get out of here. But now that you mention it, I could just leave you here, yeah.”

 

Lance blinks at him. _He’s trying to help._ That’s a new one.

 

“Oh,” Lance says.

 

Keith rolls his eyes, shakes his head. Lance thinks it over for a moment, then, “Y’know, that would still involve leaving me here, _alone,_ in this elevator.”

 

“You got a better idea?”

  
Lance grins, panic practically forgotten with the opportunity to one-up Keith. “Yes, actually, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thanks for any and all comment/kudos, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> also, sorry this one took so long to get out, i was busy with my other [WiP](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8804287/chapters/20185300) and school and stuff, so it took a little longer. i've got a few other ones planned for this series and i'm not totally sure which one will be next, so just be on the lookout for an update to the series! 
> 
> hit me up here or on [tumblr](https://pidgeotto-gunderson.tumblr.com/) if you have any requests for the series or if you just wanna yell at me


End file.
